


Boogiemen

by XYDamianKane



Series: Kinktober 2019 [16]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Crying, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gangbang, Kinktober 2019, Multi, Stuck in a wall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-20 22:11:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21064004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XYDamianKane/pseuds/XYDamianKane
Summary: Bruce cannot mind his own business and encounters some violent trouble for his curiosity.





	Boogiemen

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the warnings.

Day 16: **Stuck in a Wall** | Power Difference/Authority | Fisting (Consensual) | Drunk Sex

* * *

Bruce got up here by shimmying his way up a service ladder and was so delighted by his success that he hadn’t really stopped to think before trying to get inside the warehouse.

The good news, he supposes, is that he must be hitting a growth spurt. The bad news is that he really overestimated how far apart these slats were. His feet can barely touch the ground if he points his toes, and he can’t feel anything in front of him that he could grab onto and use to pull himself through.

So levering himself through is out. At least his satchel is around his neck and, as such, on the useful side of the wall. He can write down any observations, even if it will be hard.

He waits it out, lets his eyes readjust to the dark. He makes out figures on the floor below him setting up chairs in two blocks, all facing one way. His first thought is _ it looks like a wedding _ but that doesn’t make any sense.

His eyebrows furrow, his eyes keep adjusting, and he spots a row of enormous crates behind the “stage”. He that each is numbered (all only two digits, which is odd) and the pattern of holes in the lid of each one

He sees someone distributing _ paddles_, one to each chair, and--

Oh.

It’s an auction.

He’s been to an auction before. Probably not like this one.

He can’t see anything to immediately indicate that it’s the Court, but who else could it be?

Someone grabs his legs. He screams, and kicks out on instinct. Some of the figures down below look up and _ he is in so much trouble. _

He can’t move his legs, so he tries pushing himself out with his hands again. It _ hurts_, but he has to keep trying, or he’s going to get caught--stay caught.

Someone is kneeling right in front of him and has clapped a hand over his mouth before he can even realize. They grab his wrists and hold them in one huge hand. These shorts must be too big on him --the _ someone _ behind him pushes their hand right up the leg and holds him there, like he’s being forced to straddle a swing--

The hand holds his pelvis up and takes his weight, the thumb reaching up between his legs. 

It hurts to be stuck here, it hurts to be pressed so firmly into the hand below him, and it hurts _ more _ where the thumb is pressing inside his hole.

His lungs burn, so he must be screaming, but it’s muffled by the hand over his mouth.

His eyes prick with tears. 

The hand over his mouth vanishes long enough for him to choke out a loud, mortifying sob before what feels like fingers are shoved in his mouth.

He bites down on instinct, and that at _ least _ elicits a yelp. Bruce’s satisfaction is immediately replaced by the shock of getting slapped.

He couldn’t give a suspect headcount to the police if they were to arrive: there are hands holding him in place, hands inside him, and a hand holding his jaw open, now.

Someone’s cock pushes into his mouth as deep as it can go before he gags. There’s no way this feels good, right? It must just be some kind of torture tactic.

His shorts get pulled down, and there are more fingers inside him, somehow, and it hurts more than anything he’s felt before.

Harvey said you can live through anything for ten seconds, says that what he does when dealing with his dad’s garbage, so that’s what Bruce tries.

He makes it through three counts-of-ten before the fingers withdraw and _ twelve _ grueling counts before the first cock spills inside him.

There’s another. Someone cums on his face. He loses count and starts again.

It all hurts more or less the same, though, so the worst must be over. 

A particularly violent thrust pushes him so far forward that his ribcage pops through the hole and he’s loose again. The men clear out as quickly as they arrived.

Bruce is grateful for his skinny legs, now: they don’t give him too much trouble besides the uncontrollable shaking as he tumbles free and gets to his feet.

He picks through his satchel, and everything’s still inside.

By the time he looks down at the warehouse floor, it’s like no one was ever there--no boxes, no chairs, no suspects.

He’s sobbing, now, and it’s the frustration that brings the tears more than anything. All this walking and waiting and _pain _ was for nothing. He still has to walk home in the dark, blood streaked down his thighs, and there's someone's cum on this sweater and Alfred’s going to think it was him--

He could call Alfred. He knows there’s a phone booth where the industrial sector ends.

He stops crying, cleans himself up the best he can with a handkerchief.

He's going to make it. He can walk.

**Author's Note:**

> Weirdly, this is based on the very specific version of baby Bruce Hardy Boys-ing his way around as portrayed in Batman vs. Robin (the animated movie). Hence the briefest mention of the Court of Owls. I looked at this boy and was like...could there be More trauma.


End file.
